Visits to The Trash Rag
by Nellie Greene
Summary: Everyones favorite overgrown insects make thier first human friend besides James. This new friend owns a book store and is always willing to lend a hand. Too bad thier new friend doesn't know that. He's just trying not to have a heartattack everytime a giant bug walks through the door, and maybe, just maybe, still make a sale.


**Well, this is my fist submission to fanfic land, so I thought I'd start with something I love, and think deserves more love. So, here it is. I'm going to be coninuing this thing and hopefully submiting other stories soon, especially since I'm on my break and have the time for it now. Please leave criticisms if you see something that can be improved, or tell me if you like something in particular so I'll know to use it again. Again, this is my first time doing this, so any criticisms at all will be greatly appreciated. Happy reading everyone!**

**Nellie Greene.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own or have any claim to the book James and the Giant Peach, or the movieversion by the same name. Those rights respectively belong to Roald Dahl and Henry Selick. I will not make money off of this and do not intend on ever making money off of this. I only write this for my own amusement and to improve on my writing skills. I do own Mr. Lipchtiz, but if I'm really honest, he kind of owns me more.**

**Rating: I'm playing it safe and rating this story, T for teen because of Mr. Lipchitz's dirty mouth.**

A Spotty Customer: or Mr. Lipchitz Developes a New Level of Wierd

As a good businessman, Mr. Roy Lipchitz prided himself in his ability to take the weird in stride. He had to, considering he lived and worked in New York City. Most of the people who came to his book store/souvenir shop were either insanely weird or tourists who came to see the crazy city for themselves. But he liked to think he handled the crazies and the chaos with a certain grace, different from the average New York denizen. Like last October, when not one, not two, but _ten_ tinfoil hatted, smelly alien enthusiasts lead by a large bearded man in a lab coat carrying a walkie-talkie stormed into the shop near closing. The walkie-talkie beeped at a faster and higher frequency every time it got closer to the remaining Fourth of July snow globes that were on sale. Lipchitz, without even batting an eye said, "Oh, sure, you can have the, uh, necessary parts for the craft. In fact, for you my friend, I'll give you twenty bucks for the whole shelf!"

It was a good day, and the crowd cheered his name for his generosity. He even got a hug from both the bearded scientist(which was uncomfortable, but he was the one with the wallet so Lipchitz kept his mouth shut) and thin, twenty-something, weeping, blonde woman (which was much more enjoyable, even if she did get snot on his jacket, and smelled a bit like beer and compost).

That incident alone made his top twenty weird instances in the store, and even the top 5 didn't make so much as stutter. In fact, he thought smugly one early morning as he reached for his coffee and paper, he was pretty sure he could handle anything that could walk through his door.

If there was a God of comedic timing, he would have been laughing manically at that moment.

It was November, at seven A.M, and no customers had walked in so far. Lipchitz had had a terrible night. There was some sort of street party, and a few people were still at it as the sun rose. He only was able to sleep just as his alarm went off. He was tired, grouchy, and was not in the mood to deal with anyone's crap. He didn't even bother with milk or sugar in his coffee, like he usually drank it. He did, after a moment's debate, pour in an energy drink while skillfully ignoring the nagging voice in his head about mixing drugs that sounded suspiciously like his ex-wife. With all the quiet in the store, he thought he might have time to skim the paper. So he sat at the stool behind the register, raised his favorite mug to his lips and flipped the paper to the front page.

He blinked.

And blinked again.

He slowly and carefully placed the mug back on the counter, knowing he'd either drop the mug on the unforgiving tile or spit take his coffee if he didn't. He looked at the front page's title, to the big, colored picture. Then, just to make sure, looked up to the name of the newspaper at the top of the page. It still proudly read the New York Times, in all its glory. He hadn't picked up the national enquirer by mistake.

"What the hell?" he muttered, because, really, he couldn't possibly say anything else.

"Pint-Sized Kid, and his Pete-sized pals" was typed in large letters on the front page. In smaller print, above the article was "young English boy rides giant produce across ocean in company with his larger than life arthropod companions". The picture was no better, and showed a small red-haired kid, standing on a ladder behind an orange, fuzzy….thing, next to what looked like a giant ladybug, wearing a dress, a flowered hat, and a smile, a thin orange man with horns under his page-boy hat and more arms than Lipchitz cared to count, and a large pink snake wearing sunglasses and a red tie. There were more pictures of different creatures, and the article went on for a few more pages, but Lipchitz only crumpled the whole paper and slammed it into the trash can. This was a joke, he knew it was a joke. But, really, it was a stupid joke. He'd read The Times for years, and known them to be a respectable, trustworthy newspaper. He'd never thought he'd see the day that they would put this kind of garbage in their paper, let alone their front page. It was probably someone's idea of a prank, and no doubt they'd get sued by The Times later. But until then, he was stuck with a disappointment in his favorite Newspaper.

"If I wanted to read this science fiction crap," he grumbled, "I'd pick up a dime store novel and settle with that". He picked up his mug and drank half of his coffee in one gulp, ignoring the burning on his tongue and throat. No use dwelling on it, he thought. He can gripe about it with his pals on his lunch break later, and maybe even get a laugh out of it. But for now he had work to do. Almost on cue, the bell rang on the door and Lipshitz heard the clatter of shoes of tile. Business smile said the voice in his head that sounded like his ex-wife as he straightened to face the door. With a strained smile, that showed all of his coffee stained teeth, he recited the mantra that kept his store running for years. "Welcome to NYC's Trash Rag," he chimed, "your one stop for every novel, paper, or magazine you can think of. How can I help you ma- arhg!?" he choked, and suddenly found his face further acquainted with the green floor. He must have knocked over his mug, because he felt coffee burning a hole in his back and heard his mug rolling on its side of the counter. "Oh my goodness!" said a woman's voice. In her thirties, with an English accent. A tourist, he thought in that same tone that had gotten him through the tinfoil crowd and more. She's a tourist, and she's here for a reason, the thought continued, so get up and help her so you can make some money.

He shot up and turned to her only to scramble backwards and have to grab the counter for support. The woman, was understandably, a bit concerned and a tad bit shocked. She started to take a hestitant step back to the door. She was dressed normally, even respectably, in a clean blouse, long skit and jacket. Her small hat matched the rest of her clothes. Lipchitz doubted she could hurt him, but he could easily hurt her, as she was a little more than half-his size and weight. She didn't smell like she never bathed, and had a relieving look of rational thought in her eyes. She would have been a completely normal customer, and a treat to have in his store.

Except that she wasn't human.

Her face was blue. Between her hat were two curling antenna, and what he first thought was a cape, was in fact a shell. Her shell, which was bright red with black spots the size of tennis balls decorating it.

"Um," he gasped and couldn't think of anything to say afterwards. The lady-bug woman was wringing her hands nervously and was no doubt wondering how fast she could make it to the door, and if he'd stop her if she made a break for it. He blinked, shook his head like he was in a fog and said what he hoped would be intelligent and get her to either buy something or have the world miraculously make sense again. "You were in the paper" he said.

She blinked, and nodded, "Yeeees," she said slowly, "I suppose I was,"

"I thought so," he said quickly. Talk, he thought, make her relax and maybe this will start to make sense. "Sorry about that,"He settled the mug back into place and started dabbing at the spilled coffee with some napkins he had picked up from yesterday's lunch. "For startling you, I mean. It's just that, right before, and I mean_ right_ _before,_ you came in, I was reading the paper with your picture on it."

"Oh," she said surprised, but not as wary as before. "Well, that's a coincidence then."

"Isn't it?" he said, forcing a chuckle. "Not every day I get genuine celebrities in my store."

Whenever things had gotten too strange before, he had always went back to his inner salesman. It kept him from panicing in front of customers, and he always managed a decent profit. Most salesman knew that flattery never hurt when it came to making a sale, and was especially effective with older women.

"Oh, stop," she said with a girlish giggle. "I'm no celebrity, I promise you that."

"Hmm," he said, throwing away the dirty napkins, "So uh, what can I help you with?"

"Well, I'm not sure." She said straightening her hat. He desperately tried not to stare at her antennas.

"I'm new to the city, you see. New to the country as a matter of fact, and I need some books on, well, everything."

"Everything" he echoed. One half of his mind was crowing in joy of a big sale while the other was still sitting in a corner whimpering about bugs.

"Well, not everything, just, well," she gave a sheepish giggle "I want to be a citizen here, and I don't know where to start".

"Oh." he said, as if it were perfectly normal for gigantic, well-dressed insects to apply for citizenship. Well, do you have your card?" he asked.

"Card?" she asked. "Oh, you mean the green one? We got those last night." She searched through her purse for a wallet and- arms! he thought hysterically She's got four arms! Oh Lord Almighty she's got four arms, how the _hell_ did I not notice that- he pinched his arm and tried his best not to voice panic.

"Ah here it is" she said holding a green card in her gloved hand.

"Well," he said, "that's a start. Basically, it means you're a visitor to the US, and with that you can get a job and buy a place to live," He straightened and walked to the bookshelves at the back of the store. "I don't know all the details about the cards, but you're on the right track."

"Am I?" she said. "Well that wonderful news"

"Yeah," he said. He grabbed a pocket constitution, a small US history book and a book on citizenship. "This should help you get started. The pocket constitution is on the countries basic laws, the history book will tell you about the founding and government, and the citizenship book will hopefully show you what you need to do next" she took the books from his trembling hands.

"This is wonderful," she said. She looked up at him with a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, sir. You've know idea how much it means to me."

"It's, uh, no problem." He said, trying hard not to scream like a little girl. "Do you uh, need help with anything else?"

"No, I think that's it. You've certainly done enough." Lipchitz sighed the mantra of _almost there, almost there_ running through his head. "Well, actually," she said thoughtfully. "I think I do need one more book"

"Oh? Which one?" and Lipchitz couldn't stop his voice from cracking.

"Well, do you have any books on caring for children?"

"Children?" he said uh sure, um, he looked down at her as he desperately tried to think of a polite way of asking if she meant human children or bug children, and if she did say bug children, how he could tell her the only book he had on bugs at the moment was Your Bug Collection and You.

"I mean a human child" she said as if reading his mind. He visibly relaxed and went over to one of the adjacent shelves. "How old is the kid?" he asked.

"Oh, he's only eight years old. He'll be nine in July." She sighed wistfully. "They grow up so fast"

He nodded and picked up two more books. "This should help you out"

She looked at the covers and smiled. "Well, they certainly look like what I need. Though," she said with a sudden chuckle "you know what they say about judging books by their covers."

He gave a polite snort at the joke and she giggled in appreciation as they walked back to the register. He rang up each book and kept his eyes on the book behind her. Focus, on the sale, his inner salesman told him. Just focus on the sale, and it will all be over soon enough. He had all the books neatly placed in a paper bag as she started to fish for the money. Her total had come to 13.47. It turned out she was three dollars short. "Oh dear, she muttered. "Well, I supposed I'll have to put one of the books back-"

"No!" he said. He could only put up with so much at one time, and he wanted her out of the store _now_, before he had a breakdown. "Please, take the books free of charge".

Free of charge.

Free of charge were evil, blasphemous words to a good businessman and Lipchitz had sworn that the day he said them would be they day he ate his tie.

She looked up at him, shocked. "Oh," she said. "Oh, I-I couldn't possibly-"

"I insist" he said. His inner businessman, the one that sounded like his ex-wife was throwing a fit, and his sense of greed, which a buddy had named his inner Scrooge was having a stroke.

"But you've done so much for me already-" she said.

"Ma'am, really," he said practically pushing the bag into her hands. "Keep your money. It was a pleasure just to help you today." He gulped and tried to steady his voice at his last sentence. "The only payment I needed was your pleasure in finding what you needed."

His inner ex-wife was shrieking that she was filing for divorce and the inner scrooge was leaving to, and suing for the house. But the ladybug was so touched that tears began to brim her eyes.

"I-"she started to say, but choked off. She cleared her throat for a moment before looking up at him again. "Thank you. Thank you so much, Mr…"

"Lipchitz." He said. "Roy Lipchitz of the "NYC's Trash Rag". And it's no trouble at all." He finished quickly. "Really. I'm sure you're very busy. What with getting a citizenship and all-"

"Mr. Lipchitz, you're truly a good and generous man." She said with a sniff. "I won't forget this."

"Again, it's no trouble," he said as he guided her to the door as best he could without actually touching her. "Good luck with everything."

"Oh, thank you again" she called as she walked out the door. "I'll be sure to recommend you're store to all my friends." She waved goodbye and trotted down the street. It was only when she turned a corner that he sighed and finally let himself relax. His knees were shaking and he knew he was starting to hyperventilate. A giant ladybug just walked into his bookstore, he thought numbly.

A giant ladybug just walked into his bookstore.

A ladybug walked into his bookstore, and he gave away books for free! He whimpered and collapsed onto the ground. Never in his career had he ever given anything away for free. Not even holiday gear months after the holiday ended or food passed their expiration date. And he just. Gave. Away. Five. New. Books.

He wasn't what was more upsetting; that he was no longer the tightest penny pincher he knew or that he suddenly wasn't so adept at selling to the freaks of New York.

And then he remembered that she was going to tell her _friends_. He had a brief image of the large pink snake with the tie and sunglasses and the orange fellow with the many arms demanding free books and passed out on the ground.

One of his part-time workers, late as usual and already thinking up an excuse, found him a few hours later, lying on the ground, in a coffee stained shirt behind the register. He came to eventually, but continually raved about giant bugs and at one point started sobbing over a sale that they eventually had to close the store early and take him home.

Far across the city, in a small hotel room, Mrs. Ladybug was flipping through her pocket constitution absolutely elated. She couldn't believe her good fortune. She not only found what she needed, but had met such a wonderful man in the process. She had meant what she had said, and had told her friends of her good fortune. Mr. Grasshopper was so impressed, that he was making plans to visit the shop the first chance he got and James insisted he come along. Mrs. Ladybug was pleased to see James wanting to get books for himself. A growing boy needed to read as much as he could so that is became easier as he got older. One of the books told her that. It also said that reading would help with many other classes he would be taking in school. She was sure Mr. Lipchitz would know exactly what her little boy needed. She didn't doubt that he would be thrilled to see them again.


End file.
